


Happily Ever After

by MostHopelessofRomantics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Cinnamon rolls, Cotton Candy Fluff, Daddy Alistair, F/M, Love at First Sight, Mommy Bethany, Rare Pairings, Royal Wedding, Theirin Family - Freeform, Total floof, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostHopelessofRomantics/pseuds/MostHopelessofRomantics
Summary: Duncan Theirin, the young Prince of Ferelden, learns how his parents met. As Alistair and Bethany tuck their son in for the night, they share their memories of that day in Kirkwall. Living together- unmarried- for years, the time is finally right for Ferelden to see a mage rule beside their King, and the royal wedding FINALLY happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHawkeRevolver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHawkeRevolver/gifts).



> A Christmas gift composition for Redhawkerevolver, an amazing friend and author. <3
> 
> This story is pure fluff and stuff.... sweet and romantic.

“Can I have another story, Papa?”

Alistair grinned at his son and pulled the velvet coverlet up to the boy’s chin. “Tomorrow is a big day,” he replied, “I think we should both get some sleep.”

Small pouting lips protruded from a young, innocent face and warm brown eyes looked up at him, pleading. As it was with the boy’s mother, Alistair was helpless to refuse. He chuckled softly and returned to his chair next to the bed.

“Alright, Duncan, but this is the last one.” Alistair leaned forward and rested his elbows on the boy’s bed. “Have I told you about how your mother and I met?”

Duncan shook his head, letting loose rogue dirty blond curls. 

Alistair cleared his throat. “The Blight had been over for only a few years and Ferelden was still in the process of rebuilding. Many citizens had fled beyond our borders, and I decided to go look for them and tell them they could come home.”

“Where did they go, Papa?”

“With the danger spreading across all of Ferelden, most people found passage across the sea. Some found refuge in Orlais, Antiva, and Rivain, but the majority ended up in the Free Marches. So as king, I went to Orlais first and worked my way across the land, petitioning the local heads of state.”

“Oh, a  _ diplomatic _ mission,” Duncan drawled while rolling his eyes. Pride swelled in Alistair’s chest, as he was more than happy to pass on his aversion to courtly duties to his son. While his advisors would disagree about reinforcing that behavior, Alistair was still didn’t see what they were so disapproving of.

“Yes, it was one of _those_ ,” the king chuckled. “But after a few months of pandering to nobles, Teagan and I had finally arrived in Kirkwall. It was then that we sent word to the city’s Champion to meet us at Viscount’s Keep. He arrived at the meeting with an entourage, and among them was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Your mother peered at me from behind the Champion, obviously thinking what a handsome man I was. I took her hand and said, ‘Beauty such as yours is wasted on the eyes of mere mortals. Tell me, my goddess, what is your name?’. Your mother blushed a deep crimson and batted her eyelashes at me before she replied, ‘Oh, Your Majesty! It is  _ you _ who is a god among men! You honor me with your attention. My name is Bethany Hawke, Your Highness, and I’m-’”

“-telling it all wrong.”

Both Alistair and Duncan turned their eyes to the door. Leaning against the doorframe, with her arms crossed, was Bethany. Alistair cleared his throat and the flush of embarrassment warmed his cheeks.

“I’m merely retelling it as I remember it, my love,” he stammered, defending his tale. Bethany shook her head as she glided across the stone floor toward the bed.

She lowered herself gently onto the edge of the mattress, and brushed away the unruly curls from her son’s face. “Your father was far from a ladies’ man when I first met him,” she said, glancing sideways at the king. “He kept staring at me during the meeting and it was a little unsettling, so I hid behind Uncle Garrett.”

“I was not staring like that!” Alistair exclaimed. “I was giving you my ‘come hither’ gaze.”

“You looked like a stalker,” Bethany reminded him, “and Teagan had to jab you in the ribs to get you to stop.” 

“Heeeey,” Alistair whined. “You’re making me look bad! It wasn’t like that!” He turned to his son, who was blankly staring at them both, and reiterated. “It really wasn’t like that.”

“Honey, you even waggled your eyebrows.”

“Pfffft! I did NOT!” Alistair huffed as the warmth of embarrassment crept over his face again.

Bethany clasped her hands over his, her soft touch radiating love and adoration. “You did. And I found it endearing.”

“Wait a minute,” Duncan said, “this is how you guys met? Papa was being creepy lecher? And you liked it, Mama?” His brows furrowed in confusion. “Uncle Garrett told me that ladies like full purses and full pu-”

Alistair quickly covered his son’s mouth. “Maker’s breath, Duncan! That is not how you speak in the presence of a lady,  _ especially _ your mother. Also, your uncle’s definition of ‘lady’ is questionable.”

“Alright, I think this is a good time to end this story and go to sleep,” Bethany suggested. “And go find my brother and kick him in the  _ full purse _ ,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing.      

Alistair shook his head. “Not just yet, my dear. Our son needs a good example to follow, someone who is not your brother. We should tell him the honest truth about how we met and fell in love. ”

He took Bethany’s hand and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “After all, whose story is more perfect than ours? You can beat up your brother later. Or get one of the knights to do it. You can do that, you know.”

Duncan grimaced. “Is this a kissing story?”

Bethany chuckled and smiled warmly at her son. “It’s a love story, and it would be keen of you to pay attention. You are the prince of Ferelden, and you will grow up to be a fine gentleman, like your father. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Duncan nodded silently and adjusted the covers so his mother could lean up in bed beside him.

“What your father said about meeting in Viscount’s Keep was true,” Bethany said. “Only he wasn’t that smooth, nor was he that creepy. He just gave me the warmest smile, and in an instant I could tell that he was a kind soul.”

“I’m sure that being the King of Ferelden and being one of two Grey Wardens that ended the Blight didn’t draw your attention at all, hmmm?” Alistair asked cheekily.

“Well, until I met you, the only royalty I had known was the Prince of Starkhaven, and my only contact with a Grey Warden had been Anders. So the bars had been set pretty low.”

“Ha! So I  _ did _ exceed all of your expectations,” Alistair boasted. “I knew it!”

Bethany rolled her eyes at his jesting and he continued. “Once I saw her, I needed to know her. I convinced Teagan that remaining in Kirkwall for a while was good for the morale of the Fereldan refugees. They could see that their King had not abandoned them, and I had the opportunity to court the lovely Bethany Hawke.

“After settling into our rented mansion in Hightown, I got cleaned up and went to see her at the Amell estate. I knocked on the door and who was it that answered? It was old Bodahn, himself. I hadn’t seen him since he and his son set up shop at our camp during the Blight. I thought it a rather fortuitous sign that the first face I see when calling on your mother was a friendly one.

“Then fortune decided to play a cruel trick on me, for as I waited in the foyer I was greeted by all manner of chaos. Firstly, this bull of a Mabari comes running in and stops a mere foot away from me! His teeth were bared and he was staring me down. Luckily, the Hero of Ferelden had a Mabari, so I had learned how to handle such a creature. I simply introduced myself and explained that I had come to ask the Lady Bethany if she would accompany me to dinner. He cocked his head and looked at me a moment, and then licked my hand before running off.

“Next I was met by a very angry looking elf who was carrying a very large sword. ‘Hurt her and the last thing you’ll see is your beating heart as I rip it from your chest’, he warned as his tattoos flashed a brilliant blue. Being that I liked my heart where it was, I didn’t question him.

“Then the Champion entered the foyer. ‘Shouldn’t you have sent a messenger ahead or something, Your Majesty? Bodahn says you’re here for my sister?’, he said as he leaned against the doorway and puffed up his muscles. Realizing that my posture wasn’t as proper as it should have been, I stood up straight and replied, ‘That I am, Champion, if she will receive me.’, to which he looked me up and down and said, ‘I’m sure she’ll be right down. Pickings are slim around here. She could do worse.’”

Bethany chuckled softly and patted Alistair’s hand. “I’ll never forget the sight of the two of you in the foyer, both as inflated as a couple of blowfish.” She leaned down to her son’s ear and whispered, “Apparently men think making themselves look bigger than another makes them appear more manly and worthy of a lady’s time, but being an educated gentleman goes much further.”

“Yes, well,” Alistair coughed, “nothing like the quality education of the royal stables. The mounts are very insightful creatures! And I could sing the praises of the angry Chantry sisters for hours- the things I learned while scrubbing floors and peeling potatoes! The best has to be what I was taught while on the road with the Hero of Ferelden. He was very worldly and taught me how to avoid invoking the ire of swamp witches, Mabari war dogs, assassins, and-”, winking at Bethany, “beautiful ladies.” 

“Those must have been tough lessons to learn, Papa,” Duncan jested. “I think you still need practice with not angering the beautiful ladies,” he quipped before winking at his mother.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Alistair pouted. “I’ll have you know that your mother fell in love with me on our first date, and I with her. When she finally entered the foyer and I laid my eyes upon her, her beauty and grace stole the very breath from my lungs. I remember standing there like a fool, unable to speak, until it suddenly dawned on me why I was there in the first place. I bowed and presented the flowers I was holding behind my back, and said, ‘Lady Bethany, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner tonight?’.”

“I was actually taken by surprise,” Bethany admitted. “I certainly wasn’t expecting the King of Ferelden to ask me out. I accepted the beautiful bouquet of tulips and your father’s arm. That was the moment our destinies aligned.”

Alistair tilted his head questioningly. “Those were tulips? I thought they were orchids. Are you sure they weren’t orchids?”

“They were tulips, and they were beautiful. Can we move on? Duncan will be fast asleep before we get to the good stuff.”

“Alright, alright,” Alistair conceded. “The Senechal had generously provided a cook for the duration of our stay in Kirkwall, so I took your mother back to my place for a romantic dinner. There were candles throughout the dining room, and our chef served the best of Ferelden faire.”

“If Papa chose the menu, I bet it was  _ cheesy _ ,” Duncan joked.

“On the contrary, darling. Dinner was very  _ gouda _ ,” Bethany snickered.

“Hardy har, aren’t you the witty ones,” Alistair quipped. “I help save the world from Darkspawn and this is what I get in return,” he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. If he were to be honest, however, he thanked the Maker each and every day for the blessings bestowed upon him. Never had he imagined having a family after becoming a Grey Warden, so that ideal had been dropped altogether- until he met Bethany.

His smile broadened as both Bethany and Duncan giggled at his theatrics. Their laughter was music to his ears, and if it was the last thing he’d ever hear, he’d die a happy man.

“Your father was actually a wonderful host, Duncan. I was quite nervous about sharing a meal with the King, but he made me feel very comfortable. We talked about Ferelden and how he had been through Lothering just ahead of the horde. We may have even seen one another there, and didn’t know it!”

“Before long, it had grown quite late,” Alistair added, “and I had no wish to bring wrath down upon myself by having her friends worry about her safety. I was walking her home when we were suddenly ambushed in the courtyard! 

“Mercenaries hopped down from rooftops and jumped out from behind buildings. Now, I’m not about to shy away from a fight, but when I saw that there was ten of them and two of us, I began to mentally kick myself for refusing Teagan’s suggestion of bringing guards along.

“But I wasn’t about to let anyone harm this delicate creature,” Alistair said of Bethany as he glanced at her, “so I drew my sword and donned my shield and made ready to defend her, or die trying. 

“The mercenaries surrounded us, and my heart was pounding so hard that I thought my ears would burst. I stepped in front of your mother, ready to protect her, when suddenly I heard, ‘Duck, Alistair!’. I glanced around quickly and didn’t see any ducks, so I knew instantly to drop to my knee, thanks to a certain swamp witch who enjoyed playing that trick on me quite often.

“As I hit the stone, a cone of searing flame blew past my head, burning those in its path to crisp cinders. I looked up to see your mother, this delicate little flower, shooting flames from her fingertips and looking all too maniacal as she did it. Her brows were furrowed and her lips were curled into a sneer, and she laughed like an evil storybook villain. My gentle flower had turned into a man-eating plant, and it was magnificent!

“Once I regained my senses, I joined in the fight, slashing and bashing anyone that neared us,” he continued, acting out the scene for his captive audience. “It seemed to be over within minutes, until your mother looked past me with horror on her face. I turned around to see a blood mage reanimating the corpses of those we just killed. Your mother grabbed my arm, urging that we run, but I shook my head. ‘Fear not, dear lady,’ I said. ‘I’ve got this.’ And I mustered all of my strength and delivered the holiest smite of my life. Knocked that blood mage out cold. Your brilliant mother ran over to the vile man and trussed him up like a Sunday pig.

“It was then that I realized just how formidable a woman she was. Once my adrenaline slowed and I could smell my burnt hair and feel my singed flesh, I just knew that my heart would be hers.”

Bethany drew the covers up around her son’s shoulders. “I knew your father was a Grey Warden,” she said, “but I had no idea that he was trained as a Templar, too. Without thinking of himself, he stood as a bulwark between me and the blood mage, and at that moment, he had my utter admiration.”

“Why did you tie the blood mage up?” Duncan inquired as he snuggled into his coverlet. “Why not end him like the others?”

“That,” Bethany chuckled as she kissed Duncan’s forehead and rose from his bed, “is a story for another night. Sleep well, my son, and we shall see you in the morning.”    

Alistair smiled warmly as he cupped Duncan’s cheek. “Good night,” he whispered before leaving the bedside. He joined Bethany at the foot of the bed and gently took her hand. She wove her arm within his and pulled herself closer as they moved silently toward the door.

Once in the hallway, Alistair took his lover into his arms. “I am a very lucky man,” he murmured as his lips brushed hers. She gasped as he drew his fingers up along her spine and buried them in the hair at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s go to bed,” Bethany whispered in his ear, her hands roaming over his shoulders. Alistair shivered at the sensation of her breath on his flesh. He shifted his weight and swept her off of her feet. Peering into her warm brown eyes, he smirked wryly at the woman he held in his arms. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

*****

Bethany had never been so nervous as she was that morning. She was only vaguely aware of the bluebirds singing outside her window, and the warm rays of sunlight that filtered in and lit her bedchamber in the day’s radiance. Her mind was wrapped up in upcoming afternoon.

She rose from her vanity and danced across the stone floor to her wardrobe, practicing her footwork. She’d never danced a formal waltz before, and she prayed to Andraste that she not trip over her own feet- or worse yet, Alistair’s. Ask her to do a jig atop a table without spilling a drop of her ale, however, and she performed like a professional.

Grasping the brass knobs on the wardrobe doors, she swung them open wide. Butterflies swirled and flitted in her belly as she gazed upon her outfit for the day.

A gown of white silk hung in the cedar closet, and next to it the lace frock coat with a train so long that it needed three hangers to itself. Both garments were enchanted to glisten like snowflakes in the sunlight. On the stand next to her sat an ornate tiara of polished silver and sapphires, encrusted with diamond dust to gleam beneath any light. She traced the outline of the jeweled tines with a tender touch; the tiara had once belonged to Alistair’s grandmother, Queen Moira.

The fact that she was hours away from marrying the King of Ferelden kept her anxious. She and Alistair had been together for years, but decided against marriage until such time that a mage could be accepted as Queen. They owed much to the Hero of Ferelden, whose actions proved to a nation that mages are not a lesser people, but equal. In the years since the Hero and Alistair ended the Blight, mages’ reputation in Ferelden had grown more favorable, and she and the King decided that the wait to be properly wed was over.

In a few short hours, she was going to be Bethany Theirin, Queen of Ferelden.

She was startled from her daydreaming by her bedchamber door being kicked open.

“I must say, Sweetness, that you are the luckiest bitch ever,” Isabela purred as she strode into Bethany’s room, carrying a breakfast tray. “A sexy man with strong arms and big hands who would do anything for you, and who just so happens to be a king. Your mother would have bragged endlessly.” Her satin robe was tied around her slim waist, but the robe itself was opened enough to make one blush. As she set the tray atop the table, Bethany reached for the coffee pot.

“She would have dressed me up like a china doll,” Bethany chuckled. “If she would have been alive to see our first date, she would have died from embarrassment.” 

Isabela shrugged as she buttered a pastry. “As the saying goes, ‘the couple that slays together, stays together’. She would have gotten over it. Especially once Alistair whisked you back to Denerim with him. Now you’re about to become the Queen of Ferelden, and you no longer need to hide the fact that you’re a mage.”

Isabela’s words renewed Bethany’s anxiety. A mage, as Queen. Part of her couldn’t help but worry about that fact. There would always be someone unhappy about her at the King’s side, but what if the wrong people were offended? Were she and her family going to be safe? She nibbled at her bottom lip nervously, but a moment later forced herself from her ruminations.

“Do you think it’s too early for champagne?” she asked with an uncomfortable laugh. “That last part still makes me a bit edgy.”

Isabela made for the door, her hips swaying enough that her robe was literally sweeping the floor. “I know you better than you think, Sweets,” she said in a singsong voice as she reached into the hall and produced two bottles. “A sparkling champagne for the sweet bride, and an Antivan brandy for her spicy bridesmaid.”   

*****

The chapel was elaborately decorated with silks, ivy vines, and bushels of Fereldan wildflowers, which lent their scent to the air within the vaulted chamber. Tall candles flanked the altar, and the noonday sun burst forth through the intricate stained glass windows, bathing the pews in facets of crimson, amber, and teal. The guests had finished filtering in, and Alistair watched nervously from the dais. 

“You don’t think she’ll get cold feet, do you?” he muttered under his breath to his best man. A large hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Her feet haven’t touched ground since the two of you met,” replied Garrett Hawke. “Stop worrying.”

Alistair tugged at the hem his vest. “I know, you’re right,” he sighed. “It’s just been my past experience that whenever something seems too good to be true, well…”

“Stop fidgeting,” Hawke hissed. “And what do you mean by that?”

“There was this one time,” Alistair began, “that Morrigan got so angry at Leliana that she packed up her stuff and left camp. I was so happy that I began drinking and celebrating…”

“And then?”

Alistair’s lip curled in disgust. “She came back.”

Hawke’s head shook with astonishment. “It still boggles me how you managed to survive the Blight and an Archdemon. Never change, brother,” he laughed, “never change.”

Before Alistair could feign offense at Hawke’s words, the musicians began to play more loudly from the choir balcony. All eyes turned to the rear of the chapel.

Poised at the entrance was a tanned woman with bronze skin and deep chestnut hair that was pinned up with a dozen jeweled hairpins. The pale blue satin of her dress hugged her curves and the floor length lace overlay sparkled like calm waters in the sunlight.

“Maker, is that  _ my _ wife?” Hawke rasped, his eyes still unblinking. As Isabela stepped slowly down the aisle toward the dais, heads turned to follow her and some men received warning pinches from their wives.

“I barely recognize her with so much clothing on,” Alistair jested in half truth, for the pirate looked stunning in her gown.

“Same here!” Hawke added, obviously still in shock at his wife’s appearance.

“Dressed like that, she could pass for a noblewoman,” Alistair added.

Just as Isabela reached the dais, a wry smirk grew on her lips and she winked at her husband. It was at that moment that the hem of her dress had somehow found its way under her foot, and the skirts of the satin dress tore off just below her buttocks, leaving her long legs completely visible beneath the lace overskirt.

“Oops, spoke too soon,” Alistair sniggered amongst the gasps and whispers that circulated throughout the pews.

“ _ That’s _ my wife,” Hawke stated proudly as Isabela- with her backside still facing the guests- bent over to pick up her discarded skirting, causing an old woman to faint and fall from her seat.

Once the band’s tune changed, however, the guests grew silent and turned their attention back to the rear of the chapel. When Alistair’s eyes fell upon his bride, his breath was immediately taken from him.

The sparkle of her gown was mesmerizing, and her beauty so striking that she’d invoke the jealousy of any goddess. In one hand she held a bouquet of fresh tulips, enchanted with ice magic to glisten with an ethereal frost. By her side, and holding her other hand, was their son.

Duncan was dressed to match his mother, wearing white. His hair was combed and meticulously pomaded, and his cheeks were a healthy flush of pink. He stood tall and walked with regal elegance down the aisle alongside Bethany.

Alistair was bursting with pride and happiness, and he swore to never forget this moment.

Reaching the dais, Duncan took his father’s hand and placed it upon his mother’s. “May our family always be bonded in love,” he said, sounding much more grown up than he was. After bowing to his parents, he took his seat in the front pew next to Wynne.

The Revered Mother blessed the couple in Andraste’s name, and offered to her a prayer, asking to imbue the King and Queen with health, happiness, and long life.

_ Long life _ . Those words dropped his heart into the pit of his stomach. As joyous as this day was, he still couldn’t forget that the Grey Warden curse would take him from his family decades before he was ready. He wouldn’t even be knowing the happiness of fatherhood if the most powerful mages in Ferelden didn’t lend their gift of magic to aid in his son’s conception. 

At the time of his conscription, Alistair had no qualms about the consequences of joining the honored ranks. Now, part of him wished that Duncan would never have found him in the chantry that fateful day. He was jolted from his ruminations by fingernails digging into hand.

“...and do you, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, take Lady Bethany Hawke as your wife and Queen, to rule this land by your side until death you do part?”

Alistair gazed into Bethany’s eyes and his soul was warmed by the love found within. He slowly raised a hand and cupped her jaw gently, brushing his thumb softly over the silken skin of her rouged cheek.

“I vow to you, Bethany Hawke, to wholeheartedly cherish and worship you until the end of time, for death cannot stop true love...all it can do is delay it for a while. You are the Queen of my heart and soul, and soon, of our people.”

“Then I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Revered Mother said, smiling warmly. “Your Majesty may kiss his bride.”

Alistair had kissed Bethany many, many times before, but the first kiss as husband and wife left him breathless. Butterflies flitted throughout his belly and tingling jolts danced across his flesh. He had never known anything quite as exquisite as his lover’s lips at that moment.

Hand in hand, they walked down the aisle together to the cheers of their guests. Just as they were about to exit the chapel, however, Alistair stopped in his tracks.

“There’s another Warden here,” he muttered, perplexed, to his Queen. He remained still a moment longer before a great grin grew across his lips.

“Is it-?” Bethany asked. “Could it be?”

Alistair nodded and led his wife out of the chapel and into the private contemplation gardens, leaving behind a church full of guests and a courtyard full of well-wishers.

“I was hoping that my invitation would reach you, brother,” Alistair said as he stepped across the threshold of the arbor gate. Before him, dressed in Grey Warden ceremonial armor, was one of the first people he ever considered family.

“And I was hoping that I could arrive in time to see someone actually marry you,” jested Daylen Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, as he embraced the King. “I was astonished to hear that the lucky lady was my cousin, no less! Sorry we missed the ceremony, I didn’t want to disrupt it by entering late.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed into slits as Amell’s “plus one” stepped from behind the trellis of roses.

“Morrigan…” he grumbled, releasing his friend.

“Alistair…” she replied, her disdain for him enhanced by her velvety voice. “Congratulations on getting a woman to marry you.”

“Hmmph,” Alistair replied. “I’d like to see  _ you _ get a woman to marry you!”

“Are they always like this?” Bethany asked her cousin as he kissed her cheek. The Hero of Ferelden wrapped his arm around her and nodded.

“This is just smalltalk between them. Be glad you didn’t see them during the Blight.”

Just as Morrigan was asking how a dumb animal was still King, Amell cleared his throat loudly.

“Morrigan, honey, don’t we have something for the newlyweds?”

The witch glanced sidelong Amell and then glared at Alistair a moment before producing an ornate jeweled box from her sachel and handing it to the King.

“Congratulations,” she mumbled before she took a spot next to Amell. Alistair eyed the container suspiciously.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Amell chuckled. “Just open it.”

The King lifted the hinged lid and grasped a small, shimmering vial from the satin pillow inside. It made his fingers ache and tingle at the same time, a feeling he wasn’t familiar with. He stared into the swirling magenta contents that seemed to be singing to him, but not. He couldn’t hear the song in his mind, but his soul knew that there was music there.

Suddenly his jaw dropped and he fought back the burning tears as he looked to his friend for an answer. 

“This can’t be! Is- is it-?”

Amell reached out to him and pulled him close, bringing Alistair’s forehead to his.

“It’s the cure, my brother, it’s the cure.”


End file.
